


The Monster You Know Pt 2

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Monster You Know [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Boners, Bad News, Bath, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Past Reveal, Role Reversal, Snark, What is this a crossover episode?, breakdown - Freeform, jaskier has BDE, nameyname names, soft geralt warm geralt muscled ball of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Having finally reached their destination, Geralt gets to see new sides and usefulness to Jaskier, and learn a little more about his past.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Monster You Know [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642081
Comments: 27
Kudos: 199
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Maybe This Time Will be Different

**Author's Note:**

> Idk lots of angst and fluffery and building up to the next few parts. More fun and exploring to come!

The ship bobbed softly in the water. Roach had already been packed and prepared, and Geralt had come back on board. Jaskier had not moved from the spot, absolutely useless to them as the boat had been docked. And since then, he had just stood there, staring at the port he had left so long ago. Jaskier couldn’t remember if it had been from this particular dock or elsewhere, not that it mattered. 

He was back in Westeros, and it seemed impossible. How could this have been his destiny? Geralt had reassured and insisted that he had not done this intentionally, but Jaskier had the twinge of doubt in the back of his mind. He wanted to believe the witcher, to just be ok and go on this journey, like they’d gone on every other journey before now. It was just another adventure. Of course the island hiring him was none other than Pyke itself, and Jaskier was absolutely kicking himself for not paying closer attention to what the man in the shadows had been saying. Not pike the fish at all. Gods damn him.

**”Jaskier.”** Geralt’s sharp tone broke his fog, and the bard looked up at him with empty, emotionless eyes. **”We have to go now.”** Jaskier gulped, his lip quivering for a moment as he took a last look from this angle. He gripped the strap of his lute bag tight, and turned to follow the witcher, down and off the boat. The last step was hard for him, to officially step foot on this cursed land again. 

Geralt noticed that Jaskier was hesitating again, staring at the ground. The bard didn’t realize that he looked like a frightened child, and he had no idea that he was holding a breath until two gloved hands gently gripped his shoulders. Jaskier’s entire body shook as he inhaled deeply, and he looked at the witcher. Clearing his throat, Jaskier took a step onto the dock, his jaw tensing.

**”We really need color your hair,”** his voice was raspy and broken, but the bard was trying to put on airs of not caring. 

**”Why?”**

Finally, a reason to be himself with the witcher. Jaskier looked Geralt over. He was dressed like a witcher, which did _not_ exist here. Not in the same sense, at least. **”They don’t like white hair here. We don’t need the attention that will bring, nor the talk that comes with it.”**

**”People always talk, bard. Some, too much.”** Jaskier frowned, swatting Geralt’s shoulder, and immediately regretting it for how tough that leather was. **”So…Westariss.”**

**” _Westeros_ ,”** Jaskier corrected him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, stopping and making Geralt turn to look at him. **”It’s not just…look, if we’re going to be here for…gods, it had better be no longer than a week, then you need to learn how to blend in here. And for gods’ sakes you have to _listen_ to me here!”** He hadn’t been back in years, but at least he knew it was a bad idea to have a man who was practically the spit of a Targaryen walking about in the open. At least it was Yennefer who had the purple eyes, but nobody would care about that once they saw a man with white hair and a silver sword.

**”Do you remember the way?”**

Jaskier wrinkled his nose and then frowned, searching his mind. Hmm, no he did not quite remember the way after all, it seemed. **”Well there’s…a King’s Road. And we go north.”** Geralt rose an eyebrow at him for that, and the bard rolled his eyes in return. **”It’s been nearly a _decade_ , Geralt, do give me some benefit.”** And he’d tried to forget everything he could about Westeros and its horrors in the first place. **”I’ve never been to the Iron Islands. So I…hmm. Give me a moment. And will you at least consider that your appearance might be a bit much for the people of this continent?”**

Geralt shrugged, and followed Jaskier, who seemed to remember this place fairly well after all. **”My appearance always causes a stirring,”** Geralt seemed unconcerned by whatever the people of Westeros could think of him. Of course Jaskier knew better, but he also expected that Geralt likely had never heard of Targaryens, or any of the families here. He hadn’t even known what Westeros was until a few days ago! 

**”Yes, well, this is _different_. But fine, you can find out for yourself. Don’t come crying to me when something goes wrong and it’s all because of those locks. Which need a comb…tell me you brought a comb along, Geralt.”** They needed directions…or a map. Jaskier led them to some corner stall, and he hated how familiar this all felt to him. 

**”You. Have you a map for purchase?”** The vendor glanced at Jaskier, and then at Geralt, and turned away from them both without an answer. Jaskier grunted, and slung the lute off his back, pulling out his seal. He cleared his throat again, showing it to the vendor, who grew pale and began to stutter an apology.

**”F-forgive me m’lord. I did not…it was said you were-”** Jaskier rolled his eyes and waved his hand to shut the man up. Why was it everyone in Westeros was so scared of everyone else? He much preferred being west and away from all of them. **”I s’pose you’re back then because…I’m very sorry about your father, m’lord. Didn’t go north much meself, but I know he was respected.”**

Jaskier felt his blood run cold, and his jaw tightened for a moment. He was going to have a headache before lunch at this rate. **”He’s dead?”** The vendor nodded regretfully, and began to shuffle through his things. Jaskier looked at Geralt, who seemed unsure of how to respond to that, especially in public. 

**”Here. No charge, m’lord. You ‘ave a friend in Oldtown if ever you need one.”** At least some places would be easier to navigate with his connections. It was a good thing that he had stolen the seal when he left then, wasn’t it? The vendor tried to tell Jaskier his name and ask for some kind of favor, but the bard ignored him and wandered off. Geralt glowered at the man before following Jaskier. 

**”What was that?”**

Jaskier shook his head, looking uncomfortable with the entire interaction. **”Can we talk about it on the road? We…need to change out our money. Somehow. I don’t know if anyone takes it here…”** And he had no access to his family fortune, not unless they went north. Far north. He wasn’t ready for that yet, especially now knowing that his father was dead. That meant he had certain responsibilities, and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with that. Thankfully it would be twice as long to go up north, than it would be to reach Pyke. And gods, did he not look forward to that journey at all.  


* * *

  
**”Did you know your father was dead?”** Jaskier groaned at the question, but he couldn’t escape it now that they were on the road. Provisions loaded, coin changed, and they had a plan. Something of a plan, at least. 

**”No. But I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. He wasn’t _old_. And he was clever. Or I thought, anyway.”** Perhaps not clever enough. **”I ought to tell you my real name then. You’re bound to hear it somewhere on this journey and I’d rather it be from me first.”**

Geralt reached back to reassuringly pat Jaskier’s thigh, which only made the bard tense unexpectedly. **”I’ve heard it. Julian Alfred-”**

**”That’s not my name,”** he hurriedly interrupted Geralt. The witcher grunted, and when he glanced back, Jaskier could see confusion and frustration in his face. Well…he could be frustrated all he liked! Jaskier had a good reason for never telling anyone his real name.

**”I’m not the first person to go west, from here. Everyone says they don’t know what’s west of Westeros, but that’s not true. Plenty of sailors have gone and returned, telling tales of the strange continent with strange monsters. I didn’t believe half of them myself, as a boy.”** Growing up in the chilly north, why should he have? Even in summers, it was cold, and he had never so much as seen a living dire wolf in his life, let alone griffins and dragons. They were storybook things, meant for children. 

**”I knew boats shipped out from Oldtown all the time. The maesters in the citadel don’t like it, but they can’t stop everyone. I met one such sailor that came through to trade with my father…it was he I sought out when I ran.”**

Jaskier sighed, and leaned his forehead against Geralt’s back. How had his life brought him back here, of all places? Perhaps they could divert their path, go a bit west and stick to the coast, to all those small and cutthroat villages. Just to avoid those who might recognize his face, and…him. _Please, gods, let him be dead. Dead and rotting and forgotten._ Jaskier silently prayed to himself, feeling the tears prickle his eyes again.

**”Bolton,”** he whispered into Geralt’s back, knowing the witcher could hear him perfectly. He received no response, and knew that Geralt must have been practicing patience with him. **”Jeymes Bolton. That was my name, here.”** Jaskier spit to the side, as though speaking it out loud had left a sour taste in his mouth. He tensed his jaw and fought the tears that began to pour down his cheeks, wetting his doublet. 

Geralt immediately pulled Roach to the side of the road and slid out of the saddle, pulling Jaskier down with him. **”No.”** No? No what? Why couldn’t he teach the witcher to be more of a poet sometimes, and use his words? What a frustrating man! He didn’t expect the gloved hand on his face, wiping his tears away. And wasn’t that just terribly ironic, that it made Jaskier cry _harder_ , thoroughly confusing the witcher. It was the bard who pushed himself into Geralt, needing the comfort of someone holding him in place and just keeping him. Protecting him. 

**”Y-you must think me…so pathetic for this. Tears over a dead man’s name,”** he hiccuped, burying his face further into Geralt. Those arms slid across his back, and thank the gods he didn’t say much else, but let Jaskier cry against him. 

Fuck, they were on the Kings Road still. **”We…we should keep going.”** Jaskier moved to pull away, but Geralt held him firmly in place. The bard was still shuddering from silent sobs, but they were growing fewer and far between. 

**”I could smell your tears,”** Geralt’s voice was soft, and grizzled. He rested his cheek against Jaskier’s head. **”Why change your name at all, Jaskier? Twice, even.”**

Jaskier’s face twisted and he clenched his jaw, spreading his hands out on Geralt’s chest. **”The first name, because it was elaborate and completely unlike any Westerosi name I’d ever heard. The second…because it can’t very easily be rhymed.”** He hoped that Geralt didn’t pry further, and thankfully the witcher did not. 

**”Hmm. On we get, then. You said there’s an inn?”**

Jaskier was finally released from the embrace, his face red and puffy and wet. Geralt looked troubled, and wiped the tears from the bard’s face. He wasn’t ready to let go just yet, it seemed, and Jaskier had no idea what was going on in that head of his. How strange they must have seemed to passers-by. Fuck. Passers-by! They needed to be stealthy. Two men showing affection like this was unacceptable, in public. And that was rather sad, he thought. The Continent was far more accepting of such things.

**”Yes. There is one…we ah…yes. I honestly don’t recall much of this place, Geralt. And I was never one for maps…”** Jaskier pulled out the scroll, unfurling it and finding their current location. **”Here. You know, all these places, I never would have visited on my own. But with you at my side, no one is going to touch me.”** After the initial shock had worn off, Jaskier found himself realizing that this was going to be alright, after all. Ramsay wouldn’t find him if they never went north. If he was alive at all. No, he needed to banish those thoughts right out of his mind. 

**”We’ll need warm food. Ale. And sleep. Jaskier…”**

The bard turned back to the witcher, wondering what could have put _that_ tone in his deep voice.

**”I’m sorry.”**

He was nearly crying again, but simply nodded. Jaskier didn’t need witcher senses to tell that Geralt would have atypically preferred he be chatty in this moment. Perhaps he might be on edge the entire time they were in this awful place, but having Geralt here was making it that much easier. And he desperately needed sleep, he could feel that in his bones. 

**”At least the wine is decent, for a price,”** was all he managed to say, before they were off for a few more hours of riding.


	2. The King's Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier begin their trek north.

It was past nightfall by the time they finally reached the inn, and Jaskier was feeling absolutely famished. A witcher could go days with naught but a scarce meal to tide them over, but a bard? A bard needed good, rich food and tender delicacies. But he was stuck with Westerosi tavern slop, which he could smell a hundred paces down the road from this one. They stopped near the stables, to put Roach up for the night. Jaskier looked at the witcher again, chewing nervously on his lip. 

**”You’re absolutely sure I can’t just…do a little something to your hair? I don’t want anything to happen in here. If King Robert heard a man with white hair was wandering about he’d send knights out to find you faster than even you’d realize.”** Geralt shook his head with a grunt, signaling that it was not up for discussion anymore. Well, Jaskier had tried. It wasn’t like Geralt couldn’t hold his own, but the last thing they needed was to be arrested and sent to the Wall because the man refused to put any sort of pigment in his hair. **”I’ll arrange a room and some food for us. And a bath. Sorry Roach, but the _smell_ of you…”** The mare stomped her hoof, and Geralt chuckled as though he spoke her language perfectly. 

Carrying his lute and one of their travel packs, Jaskier headed inside to negotiate terms of a night’s stay. There were all sorts tucked away into corners here, in their quiet conversations and suspicious looks. Gods, he missed the Continent already. **”Pardon!”** he called for the barkeep’s attention, assuming it was the tavern’s owner as well. **”My companion is stabling our horse for the evening, might you have a room available? Just the two. And if there’s a chance for a warm bath we would be so very delighted,”** he grinned his winning smile, but found his charms were about as useful as a double-arsed donkey around here. 

**”Aye. Room for two. Can’t promise the water’ll be too warm for ye. Expectin’ yer be needin’ food and drink.”** Jaskier nodded, and slipped a dragon to the man, who eyed it suspiciously. 

**”We’re not from around here, and we don’t intend to stay for long, so if you wouldn’t mind being discreet about all this?”** The innkeep understood a moment later, as the whole tavern fell silent at the sight of a large, white-haired man entering the establishment. He asked no questions, but immediately produced a key for the pair, setting about to pour them both the finest of pisswater, Jaskier had no doubt. 

**”There was a man in the stables. Smelled like shit.”**

**”Well, you’re in Westeros now, it’s all going to smell like shit.”**

Geralt snorted a laugh, and took both mugs as soon as they were placed down. Of course he would find the corner of the bar with little light and the best vantage point of the rest of the room. Witcher habits died hard, Jaskier supposed. 

**”He was staring at me. I did _not_ like the feeling of his eyes upon me.”**

Jaskier sighed, rubbing his face as he sat. **”It’s because you look like you belong to the deposed royal family, Geralt. The dragon lords, they called themselves. Never thought I’d see a dragon in my life, actually.”** Not until they’d climbed that mountain and saved the mated pair from certain death. **” _That’s_ why I needed you to do something about…all this.”** Jaskier twisted a strand of hair between his fingers. **”They all had white hair. No one else does.”** Not naturally, or not unless they were very old, at any rate. 

**”Maybe you should sing for them. Ease their tensions.”**

**”Ha! No. Absolutely not. I will not be singing any songs about our adventures here, nor in any inn we take our custom to.”** Jaskier lifted one of the flagons. Yes, it tasted just as vile as he thought it would, and he could only wonder how Geralt was drinking it with a straight face. How he did half the things he did with a straight face was another matter entirely.

**”You could sing a song to ease them,”** Geralt unhelpfully offered.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. **”Geralt, most of the things I sing about, nobody here will even know exists.”**

**”One of the songs from here, then. That you sang to me. _And who_ -”**

Jaskier panicked, nearly knocking both of their ales over in his scramble to clap a hand over Geralt’s mouth. He’d never so much as heard the witcher hum a contemplative tune, and here he was, about to start singing the fucking Reynes of Castamere to a pub full of strangers. Geralt looked confused and slightly tickled at what had just happened.

**”Geralt! You cannot sing that…not here. I only sang it because _you_ asked, and there were no Westerosi ears to hear it. That is a song of death and betrayal, and you do _not_ sing that.”** Jaskier looked shaken, enough that the witcher understood his panic. He nodded, gently pulling the bard’s hand away from his face. Geralt’s eyes focused on something in the distance, but by the time Jaskier turned to look, there was nothing to be seen.

**”Same one again. He won’t come in.”** Geralt sounded certain, but Jaskier now found himself paranoid and eager to be hidden from view once more. He was already imagining the rumors of a Targaryen wandering the King’s Road, up to no good, with the son of Roose Bolton by his side. Yeah…that would go down fabulously.

**”C’mon. Let’s make camp for the night. I have a bath coming for us…probably best we keep out of sight.”** Geralt nodded, picking up their bags and silently following the bard. It was odd, to have the witcher following his lead for once. But it also gave him a sense of purpose and responsibility. This was _his_ homeland they wandered in, and he had to ensure Geralt know what exactly they could get away with, and what they could not. **”Pardon. Would you be so kind as to send the food to our room, when it’s ready? Cheers.”** Jaskier had never been so eager to get back onto the road in his entire life. 

Jaskier did love how predictable the tavern rooms were, easily finding theirs. It was no matter if the bath was not as warm as he’d like, Geralt could do it with a bit of magical influence. At least he hoped that his magic worked here, the same as it did at home. Wouldn’t that just be the world’s worst irony, if they were stuck here without any of Geralt’s abilities. Jaskier wouldn’t think about that just right now, instead focusing on the food and bath they were about to enjoy. 

**”At least it’s fairly isolated,”** Jaskier shrugged once they stepped inside the room. The bed was smaller than ones they were accustomed to, but the window faced dark, thick woods. No one was going to be spying on them, unless they could climb a tree with no decent branches that far up. Jaskier sat at the end of the bed, peeling his boots off with a grunt. **”Ow. The roads here are terrible, you know. You’ll likely need to find a blacksmith for Roach, before the end of all this.”**

Geralt was examining their bath, though Jaskier didn’t know why. He had always been the one to prepare the bath with salts and perfumes. He looked on curiously, quietly walking to the door separating the bed from the bath. Of course he could never be quiet enough to avoid a witcher’s detection, but damn it, he wanted to know what Geralt was up to in here. The witcher glanced briefly over his shoulder, but otherwise made no acknowledgement to Jaskier’s presence in the doorway. He had first warmed the water with one of his spells, and now was searching through the jars in the room. 

**”Geralt, what are you doing?”** He couldn’t hide the slight giggle in his voice. Geralt picked up a bottle of something. He plucked the lid off and sniffed, grunting at the way it must have smelled.

**”I’m…preparing a bath.”** Jaskier was grinning now, and finally entered the room.

**”Well I should ask that you don’t dump aftershave into it.”** He helped direct Geralt to the proper soaps and oils, finding it rather sweet that the witcher was trying something new. He wasn’t sure _why_ , but the bard wasn’t going to protest, if that was what helped the witcher feel comfortable in this new, strange land. 

**”There.”** Geralt stepped back, once he had stirred a mixture of oils in. It didn’t smell too unpleasant, actually, as Jaskier was pleased to discover. He looked at the witcher, who was still standing there, arms crossed. Was he meant to know what was going on? Jaskier stared at him, confused, and Geralt stared right back expectantly. 

**”Ah…so…this is where you get _in_ the bath.”** He was so used to their routine now, and he found it soothing to comb out Geralt’s hair, wash it, make sure the man got himself fully clean. Ever since the first time he’d done it, it had been an unexpectedly relaxing part of their relationship.

**”No.”** Geralt grunted, and then pointed at the water. **”You first.”** Jaskier wasn’t expecting that in the slightest. 

**”Whaaaaat do you mean? What are you talking about?”** They wouldn’t _both_ fit in this bath. Geralt grunted, recrossing his arms. Clearly, he wasn’t going to ask again. **”Alright, well…turn around.”** The witcher rose an eyebrow at him. Jaskier held up both hands in an exaggerated shrug. **”Just because you’ve seen me in all manner of undress doesn’t mean I want to strip down bare while you’re staring at me, Mr. No Decency Whatsoever.”** Oh he’d gotten an eyeful the first time Geralt had changed in his presence. 

Once Geralt had turned around, though he looked highly amused to have done so. Jaskier turned as well, stripping down from his clothing. He had been naked plenty of times in his life, but for some reason he felt more nude than ever. If he’d had witcher senses, he would have heard Geralt glancing over to watch him. Jaskier quickly stepped into the bath, water splashing noisily around him. He felt awkward; why was he feeling so strange? Jaskier cleared his throat. **”Don’t suppose you could ah…hand me a sponge?”**

**”This sponge?”** Geralt turned, already holding one in his grip. When had he grabbed that? 

**”Yes, that’s the one. If you’d-”** Jaskier reached for it, but Geralt made no move to hand it over. Instead, the witcher shook his head again, and now he was even _more_ confused. **”Are…is this some sort of role reversal thing? I did not see that coming. Is it because we’re in Westeros or-”**

**”Shut up, bard.”** Geralt grabbed a cup, a _cup_ for gods’ sakes, and dipped it into the water. Jaskier only had a moment to shut his eyes and hold his breath, whilst the witcher dumped water over his head. Well, he supposed that was how he’d done it to Geralt plenty of times, but that was _not_ how it ought to be done to him! 

**”Ow.”** Oil stung his eyes, but he couldn’t rub them, or the lightly perfumed water on his hands would just make it worse. Jaskier sighed and just endured, knowing it would pass soon enough. Geralt grunted a wordless response somewhere behind him. A large, rough hand smoothed his hair back, pulling his head with it. **”How did you survive so long without me, Geralt? It’s no wonder you were a mess. You…could you just be a little more…gentle? Please? Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing for me right now.”**

In a way it was almost meditative, to have the witcher taking care of him like this. Jaskier didn’t know where this new attitude was coming from, but he was very happy for it. There were apparently more knots in Jaskier’s hair than he realized, as Geralt pulled the comb through it. He whimpered with one particularly tough tug, and the witcher immediately stopped, carefully plucking the comb away.

**”Sorry,”** he grunted. Geralt focused instead on washing the rest of Jaskier. The bard was already exhausted from the boat, and then the road, and Geralt’s hands just felt so fantastic on him. His eyes were already sliding shut, urged to rest by the attention he was being given. **”Foot.”** He blinked sleepily, pouting at the witcher.

**”Huh?”** Geralt was standing at the other end of the tub, one hand held out expectantly.

**”Give me your foot, Jaskier,”** he actually asked this time, rather than expecting the bard to somehow know what he meant. 

He lifted his foot, and was nearly pulled under by the grip to his ankle, which prompted his foot towards the edge of the bath. **”Gods, Geralt, would you take a _little_ more care when…you…ohh.”** The witcher had ignored his complaint, and began to massage his sole, sending goosebumps all over Jaskier’s body. He gripped the edge of the brass tub, groaning and making all sorts of sinful noises. When was the last time he’d had a proper foot rub? Jaskier couldn’t remember. The next grunt out of the witcher indicated that he should give up the other foot, which he then did without question. 

**”Do they teach this in Kaer Morhen, then? How to give massages and…mmm. I ought to tell you more about my past, if this is what I get for it.”** Jaskier sighed, sinking back and letting his arms sip into the warm water again. Why couldn’t Geralt have done this ages ago? Why did it have to start with his nightmares, and now coming _here_? Soon, Jaskier was imagining them in a sunny field, lying together with no cares and no monsters, with this same attention and care given. He found his daydream evolving into something more, something he’d wished and eagerly hoped for multiple times.

**”Jaskier.”** The bard startled and splashed water onto his face. He looked up at Geralt with his typical pout. **”You were snoring.”**

His cheeks flushed a bit, and Jaskier shrugged. **”That was very relaxing. But now I’m washed-”**

**”And will be getting yourself to bed. I can be trusted to wash myself once.”** Jaskier frowned at him, and opened his mouth to protest, receiving a warning finger being held up instead. **”I am not negotiating. Dry yourself and get to bed.”** The witcher at least had the decency to give him privacy this time, for which Jaskier was extremely grateful. Not just because he was feeling uncharacteristically shy with this odd arrangement, but because his cock had bloated from his brief dream.

**”Oh that…that’s embarrassing,”** he muttered to himself. Jaskier instantly clapped a hand over his mouth, because Geralt surely could have heard that. Perhaps he wasn’t listening, though. He couldn’t even handle this without the witcher somehow _knowing_. Oh Jaskier had attempted that once, and gotten a gruff warning to not do that again. Something about the smell of it. Of course there was the temptation of wanting Geralt to smell him like that, but that wish was unlikely to come to any productive fruition.

Jaskier had dried and dressed himself for bed, slapping himself gently in the face to make his cock settle itself. It did not work so well, but he could at least hurry himself into bed and pretend nothing was amiss. Thankfully Geralt was busy preparing their packs for the next day, or something like that. He had just enough time to dive under the furs and get comfortable for the night. **”Can wash myself, he says,”** Jaskier chuckled, watching Geralt wander back to the other room. **”Couldn’t even get his armor properly cleaned when I first met him.”**

**”I heard that,”** the witcher called out to him.

There was a knock at their door, and a soft voice that announced food. **”Oh thank the gods, I am _famished_. You’d better hurry, Geralt, or there’ll be nothing for you to have.”** Unfortunately it meant leaving the safety of the bed, but if it was just the tavern wench delivering their meal, Jaskier couldn’t give a rat’s arse to it. 

**”That smells lovely,”** he lied as he opened the door. Westerosi food always smelled, and tasted, like moldy feet. At least the kind he was used to. Then again, northern food had never been the best. Jaskier gave the woman a copper, and bumped the door closed with his foot. He had not been quite honest before, because as big as his eyes could be, his stomach was hardly worthy of it. Ever since he was young, he’d been unable to eat much at a given time. That wasn’t exactly his fault, but Jaskier had pushed the reasoning out of his mind.

Now fed and cleaned, Jaskier slid back into the bed, having forgotten how damn cozy the furs here could be. A warm, still slightly damp witcher joined him not long after. He at least smelled decent enough. The bard rolled again, towards Geralt, though in his half-asleep daze he hadn’t realized that his palm instinctively went for the man’s chest. Just as well the witcher was prepared for him, and scooped him up like a child, holding him close. 

**”Have you always been so warm? It’s like snuggling up to a fire,”** Jaskier yawned. His face pressed into a hirsute chest, though he was hardly hairless himself, thank you very much. 

Geralt only grunted in response, sounding amused. Interesting, wasn’t it, that he could tell what the witcher meant simply by the tone of his grunts. This was their new normal, Jaskier was telling himself as he drifted off to sleep again. Geralt had begun to say something, but the bard was too deep in his sleep to register any of it. Why did the witcher only say things when he thought no one was truly listening? Damned fool.


End file.
